Telegram
by Mclawliet
Summary: Scout receives a terrible news and doesn't want to believe it.


_**All characters of TeamFortress2 belong to Valve and their creators. I own only how this particular story is told.**_

_It seems I come up with …interesting ideas when it's 2. am. I had a strike of inspiration just before I was going to bed, and this is its result. There should be more of Blu Scout x Red Spy family love._

* * *

><p>Blue Scout never wanted to believe the message he received few days ago.<p>

He couldn't. Didn't want to. He burned the damned old piece of paper because he couldn't force himself to look at those dreadful words which were printed on the telegram.

But a rational part whispered to him every night before he laid down to sleep that it was all true, no matter how much he denied it. It didn't matter how many times he buried his head under the pillow to suffocate his sorrowful screaming, hide his flow of tears and to silence his sobbing. He curled under the thick blanket, trying to detach himself from the world as he whimpered alone. His lips trembled as another string of wails threatened to come to surface, which he muffled with his hands, eyes red and puffy from all the crying. His body shook violently from the mental turmoil he had to go through. When he had no more tears to shed, no more grief to express, he stared blankly into the ceiling, unmoving and not caring what was happening around him.

_~Mom dead. Funeral this Saturday, 3 p.m. Come home.~ _

Scout never told anyone. Perhaps it was his childish belief they would scorn him because he was capable of feeling, wasn't made of stone even when he acted all tough and brave. Throughout the day he pretended as if nothing ever happened, being the same old Scout, but at the nights he was all alone in the hands of misery.

He wished there was someone who would take him into his arms and comfort him with words and embraces. He wanted to share his pain, smear his tears and snot into anyone's shirt through the weeping as he would be rocket back and forth, just like his mom did. He wanted to beat his fists onto someone else's chest, to unleash his undeniable anger as guilt consumed him. But his youthful pride prevented him to express his yearning, and he remained secluded. Would it be different if he stayed back at home? Would it be different if he never went to the 2Fort? Would it be different if he did anything what he didn't, but should?

Scout would never know.

He thought of times he didn't tell his mother how much he cared for her. When he could hug her, but refused out from the reasons he had long forgotten. When he could do something nice for her, but didn't. When he could tell her he loved her, when he could do a house chore or two to show her he appreciated all the things she did for him, when he could take her to places she wanted to see, when he could go with her to shopping trip even when he didn't want to. But he didn't. He never did. He was too immature and took her for granted, believing she would stay with him forever.

The boy never predicted she would die so soon. It tore his heart to shreds.

Scout would never admit it to anyone, but out of all his family, mom was the one who understood him the most. She was the one who gave him a shoulder to lean on, to consult with her and to share his troubles. She helped him as much as she could, and yet, thinking now, he thought he never expressed his thanks enough to her. All his brothers knew he was mama's favorite, thought she never said anything about it. He was closest to her and she was closest to him. To whom will he go now, when he'll be in need of a reassurance?

There were people at the funeral he didn't know and certainly didn't want to meet. He didn't want to shake their hands as they expressed their condolences after placing one single flower into mother's grave, coldness gripping his heart with each word a complete stranger uttered into his ears. The coffin was lowered down into the earth, gravediggers waiting for the command to start shoveling soil down the hole. Flowers and bouquets were placed around the grave, candles gently emitting light as the flames danced in the rhythm of the wind. The sounds resonated as the men poured the dark essence over the fresh corpse, leaving after done deed.

The burial was done quickly. The priest spoke out the words with haste and without any feelings, moving on as another service awaited him at the other part of graveyard.

In the end, as everyone left and his brothers left him to mourn on his own, he stood there impassively, looking into nothingness. His vision was becoming blurry, tears threatening to fall from his eyelids as he blinked rapidly to hold them back. The reality slowly sank into his being. The longer he stood there, the more he shook from anguish. He couldn't breathe anymore.

He will never see his mother's smile.

He will never hear her voice.

He will never experience her love again.

Her image shall one day fade away from his memory.

She's dead. And she's never to return.

A bloodcurdling scream left his throat, leaving it raw as he collapsed in front of her grave. He trembled, yelled, pulled out the grass, shouted and cursed over everything he knew as tears ran down his face in streams only to be absorbed into the clod below, his evidence of desperation vanishing. There was no one to comfort him. Even his brothers couldn't. He just lost someone so precious to him, who meant so much to him, and there will be no one who could ever take her place. He buried his face into the green surface, blocking out the surroundings as he continued to kneel, unmoving, not responding to outside stimuli.

Scout didn't notice a man, dressed in red suit, coming towards him to place flowers on the newly grave stone. He didn't lift his glassy eyes to look into the other's face as he felt arms picking him up gently from the ground and enveloping him. He ignored the smell of cologne and cigarettes, the familiar stranger rocking him with such tenderness as if he was made out of glass. He knew who he was, but didn't care. In return he hid his face into his blouse, relief washing over him as he slowly relaxed against the solid body.

"If only I came sooner." The man whispered to Scout, never breaking the embrace as he held him and let him to cry out his sadness.

With Scout's mother gone, Spy finally took the courage to face his own fears. It was too late, that he knew, but still he felt he was able to do something to redeem himself to his lover for making such a foolish mistake. He realized he should be a father to this child, but his arrogance prevented him to take such responsibility in the past. Spy pulled Scout closer to him, and left his forehead to rest on his son's shoulder as they mourned together.

Time heals the wounds. It will also heal theirs. The time only needs to pass.


End file.
